


The Hidden Dragon

by Archaeologyfiend



Series: A Dragon in Wolf's Clothing [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don't worry she is not prominent is later entries, Old Gods, Pretty much have to now, Woodswitch (OC)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 19:19:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaeologyfiend/pseuds/Archaeologyfiend
Summary: Two boys play at swords, Eddard Stark reminisces and the Greyjoy Rebellion begins.





	The Hidden Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, before we start, I know the Greyjoy Rebellion technically occurred six years after Robert's not eight, but I decided to shove it forward two years later because the show ages up the characters and it felt better to have Jon a little older for the purposes of this story rather than his original age. However, it's a really minor detail considering and I have now jumped off the cliff of bordering on AU and just straight into AU territory with this continuation of my delving into Song of Ice and Fire lore.

The crypts were a brilliant hiding place, Jon had found, when one did not wish to be found. He had discovered this very young at five summers, hiding from Lady Stark's wrath at his presence at a feast his father had held for one of the various lords that visited Winterfell over the years. That had been three summers ago and this time he was hiding from Robb. It didn't matter that his half-brother had little to no interest in his mother's crusade to have him removed from the castle or in scorning his entire existence, Robb had reminded Jon of his place as he rightfully should. He shouldn't have said that, shouldn't have said those words aloud.

_"_ _And I am the Lord of Winterfell!"_ Even now, Jon cringed at the words, squirming away from them and Robb's callous words. Jon knew Robb hadn't meant to hurt him, but everything he said was true. Jon was base-born, a stain on his father's honour that nearly destroyed his marriage. He was the reason for the unrest in the castle as a babe, the reason why Lady Stark was not as easy in her marriage as she wished to be. He knew all of this, and yet he had still said those words. Still wanted, for just one moment, to be seen as a true Stark, even if in the midst of make-believe play, than just as a Snow.

Jon sighed and slumped down against the tomb of his grandfather, no doubt scowling down at him from wherever it was that ghosts went after death for the filth that was currently leaning against his tomb and stared up and across at the tomb of his aunt, Lyanna Stark. He had heard tales of her from the guards and from father on the rare occasions he appeared in Jon's drafty little room as far from the lord's rooms as possible. He had been reminded by Lady Stark on many an occasion that he was lucky to have that. Father had stated that she was wild, a free spirit and a true wolf. He had asked him once what she would have thought of him, causing his father to go very quiet.

" _She would have loved you Jon, no matter where you came from_ ," was all father had said before abruptly leaving the room and Jon had felt awful for opening that wound. It was yet another thing that he had done wrong. Yet now, in the darkness, there seemed an almost magical quality to the place that gave her the traditional dark Stark hair and eyes to the statue.

"Would you?" Jon whispered in the flickering candlelight, staring up at the statue's ethereal beauty. "Would you have loved me as Father says? Or would you be like Lady Stark?" The statue gave him no answers, the dead never would and he wondered, briefly, if he might get answers from the Godswood rather than here. The crypt merely had ghosts, rotting bodies and rusting swords. It was not a comforting thought, but it was true nevertheless. Sometimes Jon would wander further into the crypts and stare at his other ancestors, men who would no doubt have little care for a bastard child like himself.

The shuffling of feet alerted Jon to the approaching of someone having entered the crypts. For a moment, he looked around for somewhere to hide when a quiet voice called out, "Jon?" It was his father, come looking for him. He wondered if he should sill hide but then decided against it. He had found little comfort here after all.

"I'm here," Jon said, standing up and taking a step towards his father who hurried towards him past lines of unused tombs. One day, one of those would hold his father and his brother but never him. He did not truly belong to the Starks after all.

"Where have you been? Robb was worried about you," Eddard asked, looking concerned. Jon couldn't bear to look at him knowing the mistake that he had made.

"I'm sorry father. I know I shouldn't have said anything... we were only playing, I didn't mean to," Jon said, eyes on his feet. By now, Robb would most likely have told him what happened. His father laid one hand on his shoulder, kneeling down and lifting his head up gently.

"I know you didn't and Robb felt bad for upsetting you," Eddard said softly, not asking him what they were playing. It was well known amongst those who watched their practice in the yard that they would often pretend to be lords or heroes of old during training. "Now, why are you down here in the crypts with the dead?" Jon shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"It... It seemed like a good place to hide," he muttered towards his feet, feeling silly now that it was out in the open. He dreamt about this place, always feeling as if he were attempting to escape a place he didn't belong in his sleep, but in his waking hours, always somehow ending up down here. He couldn't look his father in the eye, knowing that he was resorting to such lengths. He felt his father give a soft sigh and then he was gathered up into long arms.

"It is alright, Jon. It's alright to admit that you were afraid," Eddard murmured as Jon clung to him. He hadn't said that, but somehow, his father had just _known_. By now, Lady Stark would have heard the news that the bastard had claimed her son's birth right in the yard and she wouldn't care that it was during play. She wouldn't care that, more often than not, Jon was Aemon the Dragonknight or Daeron the Young Dragon and that he had never once shouted it out before, all too aware of the consequences. It had been something stupid that had slipped out and there was nothing he could do to rectify that. He shook slightly in the safety of his father's arms, still wondering what that punishment would be.

"Father... would... would Aunt Lyanna be mad?" Jon wasn't sure what had prompted him to ask, but he could see her statue behind his father's broad shoulders. Despite the fact that the statue had been carved to always stare serenely to the skies, it seemed as if she were watching them instead. Eddard paused in rubbing his son's back a moment, clearly hesitating. Jon swallowed, knowing that it probably meant she would feel similar to Lady Stark, that all this time his father had been lying to make him feel better-

"Jon," Eddard said softly, pulling away a moment, "did you know that Lyanna used to practice with the sword herself?" Jon blinked, taken aback at that.

"She did?" It didn't seem like something Lady Stark would do. Perhaps that meant she wouldn't feel the same way? Eddard smiled.

"Yes. She was quite good at it too and she wouldn't stand to see someone punished for something that wasn't your fault. Lyanna would have found that just as amusing as the time you were Aemon the Dragonknight yesterday, or Commander of the Night's Watch fighting the Others last week." Eddard's eyes were sad, as they always were when speaking of his Aunt, but for once they seemed to be a happier kind of sadness, like the Cook when speaking of his recently passed nephew. Remembering the good times. "She would have loved you with all her heart. As if she were your own mother. That's how much Lyanna loved." Jon smiled at his father, hope filling his chest at that thought. At least, even in this time, his father's family would have loved him. Eddard stood then, reaching out his hand which Jon grabbed almost at once.

"Do you remember who this is?" Eddard asked as they paused in front of his uncle's statue.

"Uncle Brandon, your brother," Jon said, staring up at him. Something made him wary around this statue and he wasn't sure why. It wasn't the same as with Aunt Lyanna, but more that he got the feeling that Brandon didn't approve of his origins but tolerated him anyway.

"Yes. He would have loved you too. Brandon was much more spontaneous than I, but he was fiercely protective of our family," Eddard said, staring up at his elder brother. Jon nodded sagely, feeling a little more at ease. "He would never have let anything happen to you, because you are a Stark by blood, no matter your name." Jon stepped out slightly from where he had been standing, slightly behind his father ( _not_ hiding), to give the statue a closer look.

"He looks like a wolf," Jon commented. Whoever had carved him had not caught the essence of Brandon, not from what Jon had heard. But they had caught the infamous wolfish grin that all the serving girls spoke of. Out of all the Starks, Jon got the feeling that Brandon was the one everyone expected to father a bastard. Eddard let out a laugh at that.

"Yes, yes he was!" He smiled down at his son, guiding him to in front of his grandfather.

"Neither he nor your grandfather lived long enough to know of you Jon but I assure you that they would have loved you. You are a wolf, a Stark and one of us, no matter what else lies within your blood." Jon nodded, not particularly paying attention to the strange wording his father used, staring up at Rickard Stark. This statue was far more grim than the previous two- it was an eerie look into what someone might envision his own father's statue to be although Jon hadn't heard enough of his grandfather to know whether the carver had caught enough of him to seem real. There was a soft breeze running through the crypt, more than likely from his father leaving the door open at the top of the steps, allowing the braziers to flicker and for a moment, Jon thought he saw this statue look at him, face hard but eyes soft.

" _It seems he kept his promise after all,"_ a voice murmured, but then his father tugged him along and the moment was broken. Glancing up, Jon wondered what was going through his father's mind, but Eddard Stark merely gave him a soft smile and led him onwards through the crypt.

"Come, I believe that it is time for dinner."

* * *

Ned watched the small form of the now eight-year old Jon run around the yard with Robb, friendship now mended from the brief falling out the day before. However, while the children might have forgotten the incident, Ned still felt cold inside. He was thankful that each and every day Jon grew to look more and more like Lyanna- or so he had thought- right up until he had caught sight of Jon's wide eyes in the crypts the day before. A brief glimpse of violet in the dark, the truth to a secret he had buried all those years ago. And that letter before he had broken his fast... was now really the best time to leave? Why did Greyjoy have to decide to rebel now? What would happen if this war ran longer than necessary?

"The potion has worn off again," a soft voice murmured behind him and Ned jumped, turning to find the woodswitch behind him once more. When Howland Reed had mentioned her first, Ned had assumed that she would be similar to all the other stories of woodswitches- odd people who _said_ they spoke with the gods but in reality, merely lived off the woods and spouted the odd words of wisdom. The true monitors of the trees were the Children of the Forest, but they were long since dead. This woman though... she was certainly small, like all crannogmen, but her skill with a bow was second to none that Ned knew and her eyes were a liquid amber, not too dissimilar to those stories that spoke of the Children. Howland never said where he had found her, nor what she had wanted from them in payment for her continued service and now Ned was a little too afraid to ask. Magic truly was a double-edged sword.

"What is it that you want?" Ned asked. It was the same answer each time, not matter what.

"Nothing. The price has been paid." He simply nodded and was about to walk away when he paused, the letter still crumpled in his hands. Greyjoy's Rebellion... what if he were to die? Who would carry this out then?

"A war is coming. If I am to fall..."

"You will not die this night, Lord Stark nor any night within the Greyjoy's crowning. Your death lies to the south, not the west." Ned blinked, frowning at this woman. Her voice was monotonous, despite the gentle lilt to it that made it pleasing to the ear. She stated it like a matter of fact, rather than something that could change. One wrong step, one stray arrow... Ned wasn't afraid to die, he was afraid of the secrets that would come with it. Secrets always came out in the end and there was nothing that one could do about that. He just hoped that Robert's wrath would have cooled by now, or at least eased into embers that could easily be dismissed. If Jon were discovered now, would he still be called to murder the boy he thought of as a son?

And if Robert asked, how many more men would have to die for that?

"Even so, if I was to fall, would you get him to Howland? For his safety?" he asked, turning to meet her gaze. The woodswitch shifted slightly, a frown on her face. For once, she looked uncomfortable.

"Jaehaerys Targaryen will always have a safe haven with Lord Reed. He is his mother's son after all." That wasn't really an answer, but Ned had learnt that that was really all he could hope for from this woman. So he took it as one and carried on.

"I'll meet you in the Godswood."

* * *

Jon was confused when his father called him away from Robb and their play. They were getting a little too old for such things now, but every so often it was good to run around without a care in the world and rarely was there a day when Lady Stark was not breathing down their necks, but she was preoccupied with little Bran who had been fussing all night. Tiny Arya was trying to follow them, but stumbling every so often, her small legs unable to keep up with them so Jon had slowed down for her when Father arrived. Sansa was simply sat watching them, under the disapproving glare that Septa Mordane- a woman brought up from the south by Lady Stark when she first arrived at Winterfell and had always hated Jon- and simply bemused by her little sister's antics. Jon was merely happy that he was no longer the odd Stark out, that he was no longer chased by whispers up the corridors that he was the most Stark of all their father's children. What did it matter whether they were born with dark or red hair? They were still father's and still ahead of him and that was fine. He had accepted long ago that he would inherit nothing and would instead venture out to make his own way once he reached an old enough age, perhaps even to the Night's Watch to become Lord Commander with Uncle Benjen!

So, when Father called him away, he made his apologies and ran up to him, not wanting to disappoint. Perhaps, after their conversation yesterday, Father might be willing to speak of his mother, especially after those moments of talking about other members of his family. Robb had asked a dozen questions about where he had been after apologising, excited about the prospect of learning more about their ambiguous and dead relatives. Jon had felt uncomfortable divulging the information- Father had made it seem so private and then that moment, just as they were leaving... _Words are wind_ Maester Luwin had once said and Jon merely shrugged them off as a trick his mind had come up with. The crypts were spooky to one so small after all and the braziers made the light funny down there.

Father had taken him by the hand and led him through the castle to the Godswood, another place that Jon knew he would rarely see Lady Stark since she kept the New Gods (they didn't make much sense to Jon, after all the Old Gods merely asked for you to do what you thought was right, not zealously follow some old script). Standing there was a woman that Jon had a vague recollection of, but whenever he thought about her, he could never quite grasp why she had been there. She was always in the Godswood, he knew that, and she didn't always stay in Winterfell. He had a distant memory of asking Father where she was from and getting the reply that she usually lived in the swamps and bogs of the Neck. She smiled when she saw him, although Jon was sure that it wouldn't be too long before he would have to start looking down on her rather than the other way around. He had once wondered whether she was a Child of the Forest but had been too afraid to ask.

"Hello Jaehaerys," she said with a smile. Jon blinked at that, a memory that always seemed to slip away from him during the days sliding into place and he smiled back.

"Hello Sherra," he said back, pleased to see her once again. Usually she brought some kind of gift that he could take back to show his cousins, some trinket from the Neck and once, a long time ago, a carving of a dragon and direwolf, both now lost to time somewhere within his room.

"And what have you learnt since we last spoke?" she asked. It was the same, each and every time. And so, Jaehaerys launched into the ribald tales of his life at Winterfell, telling her about his advancements in swordsmanship, his lessons with Robb and Maester Luwin, his adventures with baby Arya and the trouble she usually got them both into. All this time Sherra simply nodded, listening, her eyes soft. He glossed over the day before- he never felt particularly comfortable discussing the awkward relationship he had with Lady Stark- although he didn't leave out the claims made before, of being Aemon the Dragonknight, then the Lord of Winterfell. Sherra simply laughed as if it were an amusing story while his uncle merely looked on, eyes sad as they always were.

"It sounds as if you have been having many adventures," Sherra said, but her eyes too were sad. She held out her hands, holding what seemed to be some form of cake. She always had them about her person and they were Jaehaerys' favourite thing. They tasted sweet, like apples, but were made from something else, although Jaehaerys wasn't quite sure what. "Run along now, and we will speak again soon Jon." Jaehaerys blinked, before mentally shrugging and running off, treat in hand and already being eaten as he went, back to play with his siblings, violet unknowingly fading from dark irises.

Behind him, her never noticed as the woodswitch disappeared further into the Godswood and his father knelt in prayer, a single winter rose held in one hand.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, before I do a few brief notes on this story, I would like to say that this originally started out as just a mini-fic to follow-up to the end of the previous one. And then it evolved into something else so from just a brief Jon and Ned interaction about the one time that Jon once pretended to be the Lord of Winterfell, it expanded as I was writing it.
> 
> Now then... notes.
> 
> No, I am not being obtuse by having the woodswitch tell Ned about dying in the south because Ned has a very dismissive attitude about prophecies (as noted) and he is aware that death can occur anywhere. Also at this point, he does not know that he will one day be Hand and thinks he will be spending his life in the North.
> 
> Following up on that point, I am really curious about Jon's relationship with the crypts in the books since he spends a lot of time contemplating them, but we also know that he and his siblings used to play around in them. I almost did include the instance that Jon covered himself in flour and pranked Bran and Arya, but then decided against it as it took away from the serious tone of this little mini-sode in this series. So having him hide here- somewhere that we have never actually seen Cat go into interestingly enough- was sort of playing with the idea of Jon having a strange love/hate relationship with them. Also Stark love because we know that Ned goes to the crypts a lot to pay his respects to his family.
> 
> A note on the 'magic' in this. And I have a little theory about this which will be included in possible upcoming fics so I won't spoil it here. Suffice to say, a lot of the mysticism in both show and book occur around and after the horrendously named 'Robert's' Rebellion, and that it just speeds up in appearances during the narrative. It may also have something to do with what I personally think the White Walker's intentions are and how it will end. So, in writing this, I wanted to show that yes, magic does exist still in Westeros, just not particularly strongly, but also that we still don't know how it works. And yes, I know the ending is a little confusing, but all will be explained. Just not in this fic.
> 
> Anyhow, I hope that you enjoyed this entry, I have no idea when the next shall be. So, err, sorry in advance that I have become GRRM on that front.


End file.
